Adventures of the drunken Dragonborn!
by JonClay
Summary: Come along and experience the world of Skyrim through the eyes of the most overpowered man to ever exist! He is the archmage of the College of Winterhold, master of the thu'um, and savior of the world: Theryl. In their tongue he is 'Dovahkiin,' Dragonborn! In our tongue he's a drunken killing machine who does what he wants along with his dremora sidekick: Chuckles.
1. The Hangover

Another frosty day in Skyrim found the dragonborn, archmage of the College of Winterhold, and all around good guy, Theryl, standing outside of Dimhollow Crypt with his trusty dremora sidekick, Chuckles. The nine divines had spun the wheel of random destruction and decided that the new world menacing threat, after the world-eater and that blasted Eye of Magnus, would be vampires; terrible blood sucking fiends who preyed on the weak and terrorized the small holdings that dotted Skyrim's landscape. Fortunately for all mortals, the dragonborn was on the case! Armed with Dawnbreaker, an artifact of the Daedric Prince Meridia, forged for the express purpose of slaying the undead and further refined by the dragonborn's own considerable smithing skills, the violent curs would soon meet their reckoning!

 _Burp!_

Theryl leaned against the stone mountain, desperately trying to stop his vision from swimming. If he had eaten any food in the past three days he would have already thrown it up.

"By the nine," Theryl groaned, "what have I done to deserve this illness?"

"The four barrels of Honningbrew mead might have something to do with it," Chuckles said, idly picking his teeth. The dremora had long since grown accustomed to the dragonborn's love of drink.

"I _had_ to drink all of that," Theryl wheezed, "it was an experiment to see if alcohol would boost the power of my fire breath. As archmage it is my solemn duty to further science through research. Even if it comes at great personal harm."

"You didn't even attempt to breathe fire last night."

Theryl straightened up, taking a long drink from a canteen of water. "Last night was the control. We will move on to the next stage of the experiment in due time, of course."

"Of course," Chuckles said, shaking his head. "Perhaps we should move on to exploring this dull abyss? It is, after all, the reason why we came here."

Theryl sighed. "Yes, let's get on with it. We've got draugr to kill."

"We're here tracking vampires. Not draugr."

"There are always draugr," Theryl said.

"Not necessarily. Sometimes-"

Theryl spun on his heels, placing his face a breath's distance from Chuckle's. His bushy brown beard tickling the dremora's pointed chin.

"There are _always_ draugr, Chuckles. Always."

Chuckles retched as Theryl's breath assaulted his nostrils. A scent so foul and noxious that it would be right at home in the deepest pits of Oblivion.

"Nevertheless," Chuckles leaned back, desperate for fresh air, "there are also vampires in here. Vampires that you promised Isran to defeat."

Theryl groaned. The tall nord turned away from his dremora companion and trudged into the dark cave guided by the light of his trusty travel lantern that he wore attached to his waist.

"You know, I've saved Skyrim from utter destruction twice already," Theryl said, "the next time some world ending catastrophe comes my way I'm going to rock back and let it happen."

"I completely agree. This worthless world needs to be blessed by the fire of Lord Dagon," Chuckles said.

"Exactly! Like, sometimes I think that the world is meant to be destr-wait a minute!"

The travel lantern threw odd shadows over Chuckles's face, making the dremora look even more dangerous and sinister than before. His lips were curled upward in a devious smile and his eyes burned with a hidden fire.

"Let's just keep going," Theryl said.

"Of course, master."

Theryl had fought his way through many of the ruins that dotted Skyrim's landscape, growing accustomed to how they were laid out. Most of them were draugr infested hells that stank of stale, cold air, and rotting flesh. He expected this one to be nothing different. After a brief journey through the natural rock, the dragonborn and the dremora heard the sound of voices and they drew to a halt. An almost imperceptible sound, the merest whisper, blew through the cave.

"Two vampires," Theryl said, "definitely humanoids. And what looks like a dog. Bloodsuckers keep dogs?"

"Death-hounds," Chuckles said. "Vicious beasts. How will we be approaching this, master? Are we simply going to bring an end to their pitiful existence or are you feeling for some sport?"

"Feeling for my bed, honestly," Theryl said. His stomach churned and the cave air was doing nothing to ease his nausea. He took another drink of water from his little canteen and stretched his arms. "I'll handle this group myself. It'll be a nice workout."

Theryl stomped forward, his steps echoing throughout the cavern, attracting the attention of the vampires. The two humanoids his shout detected regarded him with thinly veiled curiosity.

"Now what do we have here," The taller vampire, a dunmer with red eyes and wrinkled skin, said.

"Fresh prey," The other, a short female, said. "How lucky are we that a delightful morsel simply wanders in out of the cold."

The death-hound let out a menacing growl and took off at speed. Its masters chuckled as it raced across the cave floor and leaped at Theryl, intending to sink its teeth into the dragonborn's neck. Theryl took a deep breath and let loose a gout of flame—white hot dragonfire—that turned the hound to ash. The vampires barely had time to register what had happened before there was a flash of blue light and they found Theryl standing right beside them.

The female hissed and began casting a spell to drain Theryl's vitality. With his left hand the dragonborn threw up a ward that effortlessly repelled the monster's pitiful spell. He unsheathed Dawnbreaker, casting its holy light over those who would have him be prey, and in one smooth motion he sent the female's head rolling. The male vampire was on him immediately, attacking Theryl with an ebony dagger he had pulled from his belt. Theryl wove his way around the vampire's strikes easily, goading him away from the wall into an open space.

"Damn mortal!" The vampire hissed.

His frustration led him to lunge towards Theryl where his dagger and the arm it was attached to were sent flying by a quick swipe from Dawnbreaker. Theryl spun and plunged the blade into the vampire's back. Dawnbreaker's light grew blindingly bright before sending out an explosion of blue flame that passed harmlessly through Theryl, but would have annihilated any undead creature had any remained.

Chuckles casually descended the stairs, daedric armor glinting menacingly in what little light reached it.

"Quick work as always, master."

Theryl stood tall and proud, surveying the destruction he had wrought, before promptly dropping to his knees. He retched, trying in vain to hold back the oncoming flood, and threw up all of the water he had drank during the day.

Theryl groaned. "All that spinning and swordplay messed me up."

"Ah, yes, the mighty dragonborn, Alduin's bane, ender of the civil war, archmage of the College of Winterhold and master of all spells, defeated by a hangover," Chuckles said, "a single of your fireballs would have been enough to take them out. No one told you to go in there and show off your skills with the blade."

Theryl belched. "I can't go around letting fireballs fly everywhere in these ruins. The last time that happened I nearly burned down a mountain, remember? The jarls will have my balls in a vice if that happens again."

"Then may I suggest that you stop drinking?" Chuckles said.

"Stop drinking?" Theryl stared wide-eyed at the dremora, a line of drool dripping from the corner of his mouth. "How dare you! You know what your problem is, Chuckles? You don't know how to have fun. Stop drinking, ugh, why don't you tell just tell me to go kill myself?"

"At this point I doubt that anything can kill you, master," Chuckles said with a sigh. "Even yourself."

"Aw, Chuckles, you're making me blush."

Theryl stood up, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his archmage's robes. "My point still stands. You need to learn how to have fun. Like me."

"Fun," Chuckles said.

"Yeah, fun."

"Like you?"

"Yeah, like me."

"All you do is drink grain alcohol and kill people. I would hardly call that 'fun.'"

"Poor Chuckles," Theryl put a hand on the dremora's shoulder, his eyes wet with tears. "How dreadful an existence you must lead."

"I will kill you someday," Chuckles snarled.

"But not today! Now, come on, let's go. We have an entire cavern to explore. Maybe we got lucky and the vampires killed the draugr."


	2. Sleeping Serana

( _Yo, follow me on twitter JonClay14)_

Chuckles let out an annoyed roar as he plunged his blade into yet another dried out draugr. The dremora was completely surrounded by the undead fiends. Theryl was leaning against a wall, pleasantly reading, for the fifth time, his favorite novel: The Lusty Argonian Maid. The duo had made their way through the crypt killing both draugr and vampire on their way. Theryl's hangover was gone, but he saw no reason to help his dremora servant. Creatures such as these were an irritation to a being as mighty as Chuckles.

"'There won't be any draugr here, master,'" Thery said sarcastically. He licked the tip of his index finger and turned a page. Chuckles growled and furiously hacked at the remaining draugr. The beasts fell to the ground, their centuries old lives finally over.

Chuckles sheathed his blade. The dremora paused for a moment to catch hus breath and survey the swathe of death and destruction he had left.

"I believe that we can attribute that particular statement to what you humans call 'Wishful Thinking.' Also, you could have helped. Together we would have made quick work of these pests, but instead you chose to stay back and read your smut. You may have forgotten, but we need to find what these vampires are after. Time is off the essence."

Theryl yawned, shoving his book into his satchel. "First of all this book is not _smut_. It's a timeless classic."

"It is tepid pornography at best."

Theryl ignored Chuckles's criticism and continued speaking. "Secondly, relax, we'll just do what we always do: kill any and everything we see. It always works out in the end, doesn't it? Since when do you care so much about saving mortals, anyway?"

"I do not," Chuckles snarled, "but we have a job to do. A task that you swore to take care off. As your servant it is my duty to ensure that you carry out yours."

The duo were in a dark, expansive chamber. After wandering through the crypt for what felt like hours they had finally come into this room, walking head-first into a battle of draugr vs vampire. Chuckles had taken care of business easily enough. He had dispatched the bloodsuckers before turning his attention to the draugr. Now that the coast was clear, Theryl made his way to the center of the platform where there were a series of concentric rings and chalices.

"I wish we could go back to the old days where you constantly tried to kill me," Theryl said. "I don't like this new you, Chuckles. You're so tame, so servile. It's tragic, really."

"I stopped trying to kill you because you _refuse_ to die," Chuckles said through clenched teeth. "I have never, in my entire existence, come across a mortal who is so foolish and destructive. Normally the super-powerful at least have the dignity to set themselves up as Gods."

Theryl finished inspecting the structure. There was a podium in the center that resembled the other chalices except this one had an intmidating spike sticking out of it.

"Why would I want to be a God," Theryl said. He stuck his hand onto the spike, letting his blood fill the chalice. "I've met a few Gods and they honestly weren't that impressive." Once the chalice had had its fill of his blood, he withdrew his hand, healing his wound with his restoration magic. The chamber was bathed in a soft glow as several blue lights came into existence. "They're mostly content to fill their days pining for the love of the mortals they so despise. Anyway, can you push those things for me? Line them up with the glowing blue lines? Seriously, I can't believe that someone created a magical barrier like this. Must have been a Nord."

"You are a Nord, master," Chuckles said, lining up the stone chalices with the edge of the blue lights.

"And as a Nord I am free to deride my people's terrible understanding of magic."

Chuckles slid the last chalice into place. There was an echoing click as a mechanism triggered. Theryl and Chuckle stood back, readying themselves for anything. The stone pillar in the center of the room that had tasted Theryl's blood began to rise, revealing a stone cylinder.

"Interesting," Theryl said.

The cylindrical structure slid open, the sound of stone grinding against stone echoing throughout the chamber. Theryl's eyes widened as he saw what lay inside. It was a woman; a sleeping beauty who had her arms crossed about her pale chest. And on her back, held in place by some sort of string or strap, was an Elder Scroll.

"Very interesting," Theryl said, eyeing the golden scroll. The sleeping woman fell forward, no longer secured by her cylindrical prison. Theryl rushed forward, catching her before she hit the ground. She had slender limbs, high cheekbones, and short hair that barely tickled her shoulders. Her eyelids fluttered open and Theryl's brows raised as he found himself looking into a pair of blood-red eyes.

"Who. . ." The woman's voice was nothing more than a pleasant whisper that carried throughout the cavern. "Who are you?"

"Me?" Theryl asked. "My name is Theryl, but a pretty girl like you can call me anything you like."

Chuckles groaned and rolled his eyes. The daedra was too familiar with the way his master behaved around attractive women. Or unattractive women. Basically any female between the ages of 18 and 45, honestly.

The vampire girl shook her head and slowly blinked. "Excuse me? Your name is Theryl?"

"Correct my dear. And what, may I ask, is yours?"

"Serana. My name is Serana." She straightened up and took a look at her surroundings. Her eyes passed over the bodies of both vampire and draugr without revealing a flicker of emotion. When she finally saw Chuckles standing in the shadows, casually leaning against a pillar, she froze.

"So, you're a mage. A master summoner," Serana said.

"Among other things, yes," Theryl said. "Now, Serana, forgive my lack of manners, but I'm afraid that I must get to the point. Perhaps you'd like to tell me a bit about yourself. Like why you were sleeping in this cave and being hunted by a group of angry vampires."

"That's a story that I don't feel comfortable discussing with a stranger," Serana said, dusting off her skirt. "Suffice it to say that I have a lot of family drama to contend with. Namely a power hungry father who is desperately searching for something. Something that he loves more than his wife. More than his only daughter."

"Elder Scrolls do tend to have a corrupting effect on men, yes," Theryl said.

Serana pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. "Look all you want, Theryl, but this scroll is mine. Try to take it and I'll kill you."

Chuckles snorted. "Good luck," He said under his breath.

Theryl smiled widely and put his hands up. "Wow, you've only known me for two minutes and you're already threatening to kill me. That's a new record, I think."

"And what about you?" Serana asked, crossing her arms and regarding Theryl with both curiosity and suspicion. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I'm here on behalf of an organization called the Dawnguard. They're vampire hunters."

Serana took a step back and placed a hand on the hilt of a small dagger that was attached to her waist. "I should have figured as much."

"Relax, I said that _they_ are vampire hunters. Not me. I kill without prejudice. Trust me."

"Right, well, I think that it's time I take my leave. Good-bye, Theryl. Maybe we'll meet again."

Serana spun on her heels and took off towards the stairs on the far side of the cavern. These ancient crypts that dotted Skyrim were plagued by uninspired design and secret backdoors that were unreachable from the outside.

"You're not seriously about to let her walk away, are you?" Chuckles asked.

Theryl stroked his beard, deep in thought. "Three."

Serana bounded up the stairs, her movements becoming more fluid as her body slowly recovered from its state of atrophy.

"Two."

She reached the platform at the top of the stairs and halted. Several death-hounds emerged from the shadows followed by their master vampires. Serana unsheathed her dagger and prepared to engage them in battle.

"One."

A loud blast echoed throughout the cavern as the lid of an ancient coffin on that same platform exploded upwards. A powerful draugr—an overlord, Theryl thought—emerged from the coffin ready to defend his crypt from all outsiders.

"And there we go," Theryl said. A three way battle began between Serana, the vampires, and the powerful draugr.

"She's doing rather well," Chuckles said. "But she won't last forever. She's too outnumbered. I repeat my question. What are you going to do? I know from experience that you aren't one to pass up a chance to slither between an attractive woman's legs."

"I could kill her," Theryl said. "Honestly, it might be the most prudent thing to do. The vampires are obviously after that Elder Scroll. I could kill her, take the Elder Scroll, and just keep it. Eventually I'd be able to weed out where the vampires are coming from."

Chuckles nodded. "Isran would approve."

"Or I can let her live. Convince her to let me help her, and see where this goes. What began as a simple series of vampire attacks has suddenly become so much more delicious. An Elder Scroll is basically guaranteed entertainment."

"Isran would not approve of you letting a vampire live."

"Isran will keep his mouth shut and do what I say before I bring Fort Dawnguard crashing down around his ears," Theryl said. The dragonborn shivered, his palms began to glow as he rapidly gathered lightning energy. On the platform above the battle raged just as Chuckles predicted. Both the enemy vampires and the mighty draugr were mostly focused on Serana. She was doing her best, but she was also flanked on all sides by powerful enemies.

"I think I'm coming down with something, Chuckles," Theryl's entire body now glowed with energy; he had become a beacon in the dimly lit space.

Chuckles flashed a wolfish grin and took two steps back. "Coming down with what, master?"

"A sudden burst of _severe_ competence."

Theryl fired a beam of pure electrical energy that crashed into two death-hounds, reducing the dogs to ash and exploding the wall of rock behind them. Serana barely had time to react to the lightning storm before it was over and she had to dodge a surprise attack from the draugr. There was another flash of blue light and Serana gasped as she found Theryl standing directly behind her. The draugr, sensing the soul of the dragon that lay inside Theryl, let out a burst of Unrelenting Force that blew Serana right into Theryl's arms. The dragonborn however, was not moved.

"Your thu'um is weak, just like all of your traitors who sold your souls to your dragon masters," Theryl said. The dragonborn took a deep breath and let out his own shout.

 _"FusRoDah!"_

The dragonborn's Unrelenting Force surged across the platform, slamming into the draugr, sending the undead creature flying across the platform and crashing into the stone wall. The draugr fell to the ground, the last embers of life extinguished from his eyes.

Serana opened her mouth to speak, but was forced to turn her head as Theryl unleashed a powerful gout of flame that torched the vampires who had tried to rush the pair as they were distracted, reducing them to ash.

"See, if you'd have done that instead of skimming pornography we would have been back in the fresh air already," Chuckles said. The daedra had taken his time climbing the stairs, knowing better than any that his master was never in any danger.

"But then it wouldn't be any fun, my dear Chuckles," Theryl said. "Your enemies need to believe that they have a fighting chance otherwise it's not good sport."

Serana pulled herself free from Theryl's arms, surveying the destruction the dragonborn had caused—the piles of ash and the giant boulders that had been blasted free—with wide eyes. "What. . .what _are_ you?"

Theryl smiled. "Why don't we take a step outside of this stale air and have a conversation, huh? Don't worry, I promise not to kill you."


	3. He likes older women

The trio made their way out of the crypt and found themselves standing in the snow, harsh, cold air burning their nostrils. Night had fallen over Skyrim. The light of the moons reflected brilliantly on the undisturbed snow. Serana looked up, taking in the sight of the night sky. How long had it been since she'd seen the stars, the tears in Aetherius? She wrapped an her arms around her body and wondered about the fate of her mother and father. A single tear broke through, flowing down her cheek.

"Damn it, Chuckles!"

Serana's eyes snapped open. She turned and saw Theryl standing with his hands on his hips, his face two inches away from that of his dremora servant.

"I wanted to get out of there before night fell. You know I hate travelling in the dark and tripping all over myself like a moron."

"Then maybe," Chuckles snarled, "you should have spent less time fantasizing about Argonian intercourse and more time helping me fight. Really, master, it's your own fault."

Theryl huffed and turned away. "Once again I find myself ignoring your veiled jabs at my taste in literature."

"There's nothing 'veiled' about my jabs. I've read every single word and I can assure you that it is nothing but smut aimed at the lowest of the lower class," Chuckles said.

"I didn't realize that you were such a literary critic," Theryl said. "Old Mehrunes Dagon would be pleased. After all we all know that his plane of oblivion is famous for producing beautiful works of art. Oh, wait, no. His world is nothing more than a smelly pit of fire and despair that he can't even leave since Martin Septim beat his as-"

"HOW DARE YOU!"

The silence of the night was rent by the sound of Chuckles drawing his daedric blade. Theryl thrust his arm to the side, ignoring Dawnbreaker at his waist, and a one handed blade appeared out of thin air, falling gently into his grip.

"Oh yeah, look at the big bad Chuckles. Ready and willing to get his big red ass beat for the six hundred and sixty sixth time," Theryl licked his lips. "Come on. Let's dance, Chuck-Chuck."

Serana cleared her throat. The delicate sound carried through the night, breaking the violent tension and attracting the attention of the both males. Theryl released his grip on the blade, letting it disappear in a puff of mist. Chuckles grunted and sheathed his sword before taking two steps back.

"Ah, sorry about that," Theryl said. "Things between Chuckles and myself can get kind of heated." He plopped himself down on the snow and pulled out a second canteen from under his robes.

"Come on," Theryl pat the cold snow next to him. "Sit next to me. You're a Nord, right? And a vampire? You can't tell me that you're afraid of the cold."

The dremora sat down on the snow at his master's right side, crossed his arms and closed his eyes. Theryl took a swig from his canteen, wincing slightly as the firewater burned his throat and seared his chest. Serana pursed her lips, but, in the end, she made her way over and sat demurely by Theryl's side.

"There we go! That wasn't so hard, was it?" Theryl asked.

"This is. . . strange," Serana said, tucking a strand of hair behind her right ear. "Can you tell me something, Theryl? Who is Skyrim's high-king? I wonder how long I've been asleep."

"Skyrim's high-king, huh? Well, it was King Torygg, but he got shouted to smithereens. Then there was that whole affair with the civil war, but I wrapped that up pretty nicely a little while ago."

"A civil war?" Serana's jaw dropped. "And what do you mean that _you_ wrapped it up?"

Theryl nodded and took another swig. "I mean that I ended the war. Chopped Ulfric's head off myself. So now we have to wait for a Moot to take place, though it is most likely that Jarl Elisif, Torygg's widow, will be made high-queen. Personally I don't think the remaining Jarls will support her, however. Ulfric may have been a racist extremist, but even I can see that Elisif is nothing more than a pawn for the empire and I actually like her quite a bit. She's the only Jarl who hasn't cursed me out. So far, anyway."

Serana blinked rapidly, trying her best to process Theryl's words. "Elisif? Torygg? Ulfric? Who are these people? And you mentioned an empire? What empire is that?"

"Eh?" Theryl leaned back, resting his weight on his arms. "The empire based out of Cyrodill. The fourth empire, if we're being technical."

"There've been four empires?" Serana said weakly. The vampire took a deep breath, swallowed, and stared up at the night sky once more. "I must have been asleep for thousands of years. Please, tell me more."

Theryl shook his head. "Whoa there, slow down. You can't expect me to not have any questions of my own. Why don't you start by telling me how a pretty lady like yourself ended up in a stone sarcophogus in the middle of nowhere. Usually the only people I find in these crypts are the old dragon priests and they aren't nearly as nice to look at as you."

Chuckles groaned and Serana arched an eyebrow. "I don't particularly feel like explaining my family's history to you. I don't care how strong a warrior you are or how much you poke or prod, I won't do it."

A powerful gust of wind blew through the clearing, covering the trio in a fine dusting of powdery snow.

"However," Serana continued, "I realize that this world has no doubt changed, and, despite what you may think right now, I believe that we are on the same side. Therefore," Serana breathed in, filling her chest with air, and exhaled. Her hot breath formed a small cloud before disappearing completely. "I shall tell you what I am."

Serana went on to tell Theryl and Chuckles about her true nature. She revealed that she was no mere vampire, a disease ridden mortal, but a pure-blooded Daughter of Coldharbour. A survivor of the domination of the Daedric Prince Molag Bal. She mentioned the location of her father's castle, Castle Volkihar, and told them, in vague details, about a deadly prophecy she was trying to prevent. Chuckles had laid back on the snow, barely listening to the vampire's tale. On the other hand, Theryl gave Serana his full, undivided attention.

When her story was over, Theryl took a deep swig from his canteen. He was now well and truly intoxicated. "Wow. That's a lot to take in."

Serana sighed. "You have no idea."

"So, you don't have a boyfriend, right?"

Serana locked eyes with Theryl, her face rapidly changing expressions as she tried to process the nord's question. "What? Wait. What? What do you mean if I have a boyfriend? I most certainly do not. What sort of a question is that?"

Theryl shrugged. "You're pretty beautiful, no lie. I'm just trying to find out if I have any competition to contend with."

Serana's jaw dropped. "Didn't you hear me? I'm a thousand year old pure-blooded vampire!"

"I like older women."

Chuckles frame began to shake as he laughed in silence.

Serana crossed her arms, arching one eyebrow. "You find a millenia old vampire sleeping in a cave with an Elder Scroll attached to her back and the first thing you try to do is convince her to sleep with you?"

Theryl took a swig from his canteen. "I mean," Theryl pursed his lips and rolled his shoulders. "Yeah."

This time Chuckles's laughter was not silent. The daedra's joyous roar drowned out the wind. His armored body shook with each amused convulsion.

Serana groaned, shaking her head in disgust. "Unbelievable."

"Also, just as an aside," Theryl said. "But, uh, if I were to, hypothetically, kill your father. Would that be an issue?"

"Excuse me?" By now Serana could hardly believe her ears. "You could never kill my father. He's one of the oldest and most powerful vampires alive."

Theryl rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Sure. Whatever you say. But we're speaking in hypothetical right now. What if I were to hypothetically carve him up like fresh game? Or turn him to ice and tip him over? Or roast him, freeze him, cleave him in two etc. Would that be, like, a turn off _forever_ or would you be able to get over the whole 'You killed my father!' thing?"

"I am not going to lay with you!" Serana said, laughing despite herself.

Theryl drained the canteen, fulfilling his intention of getting completely blitzed. When he spoke, his words were drunkenly slurred.

"Yoush an immortal vampee. I'b gotsh da shoul of a dragon. Itsch a matsch made in heaben. Dun wurry 'bout it."

The dragonborn swayed left, rocked right, and then fall backward onto the snow, asleep.

"I knew that he was drinking some sort of alcohol," Serana said. "But I didn't think that he was such a lightweight."

"He isn't," Chuckle said. "There is no word in either the tongue of man or mer to describe that vile liquid he poured down his throat. The giants who wander Skyrim brew it in their mammoth's camps. It is most certainly not fit for human consumption."

"I see. . ." Serana said. She grabbed the now empty canteen from Theryl's limp paw and brought it to her nose.

"GOOD GRIEF!" She reflexively threw the canteen as far as she could.

"Told you," Chuckles said.

Serana washed her hands in the fresh snow. She felt dirty for having touched the bottle. "So what exactly is he? I know he has to be a strong mage. I mean, I've seen what he can do."

"No. You haven't."

"Excuse me?"

"You haven't seen anything that the master can do," Chuckles said staring at Serana with wide eyes.

Theryl rolled over onto his side. The dragonborn slept peacefully, unbothered by the rapidly falling snow that covered his body.

"All he's done so far is flex is muscles. Believe me, bloodsucker, you've seen nothing of the master's true power."

Serana was silent. To her, Theryl seemed like just another drunken nord. Hardly a rarity. Yet he had dispatched those powerful creatures without breaking a threat. What was more impressive was the fact that he had somehow managed to secure the loyalty of an unbound dremora and had even gone so far as to have him accept such a demeaning name.

"Then," Serana said, "maybe he'll be able to help me. . ."

Chuckles spared Serana a curious glance before getting to his feet. He grabbed his master by the beard and began pulling him through the snow in the direction of the crypt.

"The night is going to be rough," Chuckles said. "Stay out here if you want. I don't care."

Serana watched the daedra drag his master's sleeping body into the safe confines of the crypt. The night was bright with the light of the moons. She took off the Elder Scroll and held it close to her chest, and followed the strange duo inside.


	4. I can have anything I want?

_(I always thought that the Vampire Lord form was a complete let down. Don't forget to leave a review and follow me on twitter. Handle is JonClay14)_

Theryl stared at the stony facade of Castle Volkihar as the little boat made its way across the icy waters. Serana sat next to him, her hood pulled up to shield her from the sun. Pure blooded vampires weren't as weak to the sun, Theryl had learned. Serana could travel by the light of day without sustaining damage, though she was by no means happy about it. Chuckles wore a mean scowl as he manned the oars. Serana had spent a few days travelling through Skyrim with the strange duo and she was still confused as to the true nature of their relationship.

They fought. Oh yes, they fought. Twice the duo had come to blows. And at the end of each battle Theryl had snapped his fingers, recalling Chuckles from Dagon's plane of Oblivion, and the two continued on as usual. Chuckles griped and moaned, yet he always did what Theryl asked without hesitation. The daedra even went so far as to take care of his master during his drunken escapades.

"So," Theryl said. The dragonborn was leaning over the side of the boat, trailing his fingers through the water. "That's where you grew up?"

Serana's memories came flooding back. She thought of the all the times she had spent traipsing through Castle Volkihar with both her mother and father, before the two had drifted so far apart, and tears began to fall. No words came when she opened her mouth to reply, so Theryl had to make do with a simple nod.

"Seems too spooky," Theryl said. "Doesn't suit you."

"Excuse me?" Serana spared Theryl a wry glance.

The dragonborn shrugged. "Big old castle like this? Nah. Doesn't suit you. You seem more like a girl who would've grown up in a mansion in the woods. Conversing with the spriggans and making friends with the wildlife and all that stuff."

Strangely, Serana found herself annoyed by his words."What kind of dainty princess do you think I am?"

"A cute one."

Serana shook her head and continued as if she hadn't heard his compliment. "For the hundredth time: I am a vampire. The halls of that castle is home to horrors the likes of which a mortal such as yourself, however strong you may be, cannot imagine."

"You'd be surprised at the horrors I can imagine," Theryl said. He leaned forward, pulling his hand out of the water, and looked Serana right in her red eyes.

"Go on then," Theryl said. "Since you're such a lean, mean, killing machine, let's have your magic number."

Serana sat back against the grainy hull. "Magic number? What are you talking about?"

"It is the amount of individuals you've had intercourse with," Chuckles said. "The masters number, for example is one hundred and-"

"Not that magic number, Chuckles!" Theryl aimed a kick at the dremora's armored shin. "I'm referring to the number of people you've killed. Come on. Let's have it."

"You've had sex with more than a hundred people?" Serana said.

Theryl blushed. "We're not talking about sex right now, we're talking about murder. Come on. Magic number. Let's have it."

Serana let out a low whistle. "And you honestly expect a dainty maiden such as myself to lay with such a nasty slut? For shame, good sir. Shame."

"Magic. Number."

"I don't know," Serana said. "I've never bothered to keep track. You expect me to believe that you have?"

"The master has lain waste to approximately four thousand eight hundred and sixty seven sentient beings," Chuckles said in a bored drawl. "Since he had me start keeping count, at least."

Serana was dumbfounded. She regarded Theryl with wide eyes. "That's impossible," she said.

"The civil war contributed a lot to that number," Theryl said. "Chuckles and I took over entire fortresses and cities in our own. It was intense."

The boat hit the stony shores that surrounded Castle Volkihar. Serana's attention shifted once more to her childhood memories. How many thousands of years, she wondered, had it been since she'd been inside her home? Was the castle even her home anymore?

Theryl jumped out of the boat, stones crunching under his strong boots. He stood with his hands on his hips and took a deep breath.

"Well alright then," he said. "Let's go meet your pops."

Chuckles followed his master onto the shore, and finally Serana made her way to solid ground with her precious Elder Scroll clutched in her arms.

The trio made their way across the stone bridge towards the castle's gate. There were four gargoyles adorning the bridge, two on either side. Theryl rolled his eyes as he walked past.

"I'll bet you anything that these things are going to come alive and attack me at some point in the near future," Theryl shook his head. "Bloody nords are always so obvious."

Serana ignored him. She found herself standing before the gates. The vampire didn't have to wait long before her presence was recognized.

A short, skinny man, obviously a vampire as well, came to greet her. "You've made a wrong turn, friend. Leave at once."

Serana did not move, choosing instead to remain rooted in place, an odd smile on her face. The older vampire came closer to the gate, perhaps meaning to chase her away, and gasped.

"Lady Serana?" He exclaimed. "My goodness you've returned to us at last! OPEN THE GATES! EVERYONE! REJOICE! LADY SERANA HAS RETURNED TO US AT LAST!"

"Now that's what I'd call a warm welcome," Theryl said. He placed his hand on Serana's shoulder and squeezed.

"Don't look so tense. Everything will be alright. I'm sure of it."

"Maybe you shouldn't be here," Serana said. "I'm not sure how father will react to a mortal violating his inner sanctum. Chuckles may give him pause, but at the end of the day you're prey."

A strange warm feeling washed over Theryl as he processed her words.

"You're really worried about me, aren't you?" He clapped her on the back, causing Serana to utter a surprised yelp. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. Besides, I've got Chuckles watching my back. Ain't that right, Chuckles?"

The daedra yawned, obviously bored. "As always, master."

The gates opened and the trio stepped into the main hall without hesitation. As soon as the doors were opened Theryl found himself hit by the scent of death and decay. The main hall had a high ceiling and was dimly lit. There were several tables on either side surrounded by vampires of all shapes and species. The source of the noxious odor was the many fresh, bleeding corpses that lay atop the tables.

Serana stared at Theryl out of the corner of her eye, curious to see his reaction. The dragonborn raised his eyebrows and nodded appreciatively.

"Looks like we're just in time for lunch," Theryl said.

Serana clicked her teeth and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. If it was anyone else she would have chalked it up to bravado or shock. Theryl was different, though. All it took was a few days in his company for her to be completely sure that his reaction was honest. The sight of the macabre meal that lay before him sincerely caused him no discomfort.

Serana had no time to consider her own feelings, to think and reflect on the faces that lay before her. Some were new. Most were old. The oldest face of the bunch immediately commanded her attention.

"Serana!"

Lord Volkihar was an ancient nord vampire whose red eyes glowed with power. He wore an ancient set of armor constructed of flowing, bone-like plates. He approached his daughter with arms wide open.

"At long last my daughter has returned home!"

He closed the distance between he and his daughter with a series of wide strides, ignoring the presence of both Theryl and Chuckles who were content to observe in silence.

"No doubt you have finally recovered from the poison injected into you by your traitor of a mother," Lord Volkihar said.

Serana shook her head. All signs of life had been sucked out of her. It was as if, in her father's arms, she had gone back to being a meek little girl.

"This is the first time you've seen your daughter in thousands of years and the first thing you do is insult mother. Why do you have to be like this?"

Lord Volkihar ignored his daughter's words and turned his attention to Theryl for the first time that day.

"Ah. A mortal. How ironic that my precious daughter, the most important thing in my world, would someday be returned to me by a mere..." He appraised Theryl, taking in every inch of Theryl's stout frame. "Appetizer. Though I suppose that there must be more to you than meets the eye for you to summon command one of Lord Dagon's servants."

Chuckles spared the vampire a glance before turning away to stare straight forward, eyes looking at nothing.

"Surely this must be a shock," Lord Volkihar said, motioning towards the gory scene behind him, "to realize that you've walked head first into such a brutal scene."

All eyes were in the room were fixated on Theryl, hungry not for his blood, but for his reaction.

"Nah," Theryl shrugged. "This isn't actually the first time I've seen a group sitting around a table ready to feast on man flesh. It was a whole thing a while ago. I'll spare you the details, but suffice it to say that the priesthood of Namira gets up to some weird stuff."

"I see," Lord Volkihar said. "You are indeed a seasoned adventurer. Well, then I believe that I have just the reward in mind for you. I give you the opportunity to join our fold, mortal."

There was a hushed silence. Theryl made eye contact with Chuckles who shrugged. Lord Volkihar raised both palms and began collecting energy in his palms. Violent red essence pooled in his hands and then there was a blinding flash of light. When Theryl's vision recovered he found that Lord Volkihar had undergone a drastic change.

"Behold, mortal! The true form a pure blooded vampire lord!"

The being that stood before Theryl had blueish skin, red and black eyes, and strange wing-like appendages that stuck out of its back. Volkihar's armor had disappeared completely. The being had a bare chest and an embroidered loin cloth.

Theryl returned Lord Volkihar's earlier look of appraisal.

"What in the name of Meridia's glowing gash are you supposed to be?"

A storm of shocked murmurs ran through the crowd. Serana closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Chuckles's leer transformed into a wide grin.

"Such a pity, though it had to be expected that a mortal would never be able to appreciate a form of such majesty."

"Majesty. Yeah, right," Theryl said. "At least werewolves are good looking. Women see a werewolf and go 'Oh look at the sexy wolf man with his soft fur and bulging muscles.' How am I supposed to impress women with an ugly snout like that?"

Lord Volkihar's eyes widened and his chest swole as he prepared to strike at Theryl.

"Please forgive him, father," Serana said quickly. "He doesn't know what he's saying. Please."

Lord Volkihar heard Serana's words. The powerful tension created by Theryl's words slipped away as the castle's Lord regained his composure.

"Very well. I shall pretend to have never heard your words, mortal. Though you would be wise to avoid further insulting my pride."

The vampire lord puffed up his chest. "Speak then. If it is not power you desire, then what else may I give you as a reward? Will it be gold and jewels or a weapon worthy of the greatest warriors?"

Theryl stroked his beard, running his index finger through the rough, brown hair. He turned to Chuckles, who shrugged, then he faced Serana and an idea popped into his head as he ran his eyes over her pointed chin and lithe figure.

"Anything I want?"

"Anything," Lord Volkihar said.

"Okay then," Theryl said, turning his full attention back to the vampire lord. "I want to marry your daughter."

The vampires throughout the room erupted in a storm of angry outbursts. They got to their feet, slamming their fists on the table and demanded Theryl's head. Chuckles began to laugh, a vulgar sound that rose above the angry din.

Serana's mouth hung limply open, her shoulders were slumped, and she was at a complete loss for words.

"Excuse me?" Lord Volkihar cocked his head, not daring to believe Theryl's audacity.

"You heard me," Theryl crossed his arms and gave the lord a wide grin. "That's the reward I've chosen. I want to have your daughter's hand in marriage. If she'll have me, of course."

"I think it's time for you to leave," Lord Volkihar began collecting energy in his palms. "Before I break my promise to my precious daughter and expose your entrails to the disgusting sun."

He thrust out his palm and, before Theryl could respond, he and Chuckles were surrounded by a brilliant red aura. When he opened his eyes he found himself standing on the shores outside Castle Volkihar.

"Whoa," Theryl said. "A teleportation spell? Now that's impressive."

Chuckles was doubled over with his hand on his knees. The dremora's body shook with laughter.

"Oh, master. You never fail to entertain. I can say with absolute certainty that there no other mortal would have the audacity to insult a vampire lord and then proceed to ask for his daughter's hand in marriage."

Chuckles straightened up and let out a contented sigh.

"We're going to kill them now, right?"

Theryl retrieved his trusty canteen from his robes and gulped its contents down eagerly. He emptied the last few drops onto his tongue.

"Out of rum again? Geez. I need to keep better track of this."

"Master," Chuckles called. "We're going to kill them now, right?"

Theryl stretched his arms above his head. "And why would I do that?"

"Why must we play these insipid games?" Chuckles shouted in exasperation. "Summon your army of atronachs, use your storm call, unsheathe Dawnbreaker, and show those bloodsuckers the meaning of true power!"

"Can't use Storm Call," Theryl said. "The jarls get so annoying when I do that. Something about 'too much collateral damage' and it 'disrupts Skyrim's delicate ecosystem' or something like that."

Chuckles sighed. "Very well. What will we be doing next if not killing vampires?"

"Well first I've got to find some more giants. Have to replenish my booze supply at once. And then..."

"And then?"

"And then we wait. That vampire lord was a dreadful disappointment. He's nothing more than a proud coward, hiding his presence from the very beings he considers to be prey. I want to see how this prophecy plays out. I still have faith in the Elder Scroll's ability to provide me with a challenge."

Theryl made his way to the boat and sat down. He motioned towards the oars.

"Well, come on. Let's go."


	5. That really, really, hurt

More than two weeks had passed since Serana's awakening and her return to Castle Volkihar. Her short journey through Skyrim alongside Theryl had made her hope that, by now, maybe things would have changed. For a few brief days she had allowed herself to hope that her father was no longer obsessed with the Elder Scrolls, that he had returned to being the sweet, caring person she had loved as a child.

He had not.

Lord Volkihar, much like his castle, had weathered the tests of time in isolation, standing strong while Skyrim and the world at large changed drastically around them. Thousands of years had passed and the same old faces had greeted her upon her return. There were some new, of course, and some were missing. Not all beings can stand the test of time, vampire or otherwise. Serana had sat amongst them, a princess in her own right, but she never felt at home. Slowly, as the days passed, Serana realized that the castle she had grown up in was no longer where her heart rested. Her mother was missing. None dared speak the name of Lord Volkihar's estranged wife, their already pale faces going white as sheets whenever Serana mentioned her mother's name.

She should have been happy. That's what she kept telling herself. After thousands of years of slumber she was finally back home, back in the place she had grown up. Dancing in her mother's laboratory, teasing her father and the older vampires, she had many fond memories of her childhood. Now, though, she could not forget the lust in her father's eyes as he had stared at the Elder Scroll. She never let the thing out of her sight. Her father had not openly requested the scroll—Serana hadn't given him a chance—but the time would come soon. She was sure of it. So she did the one thing she could: She left.

The vampire princess kept thinking of Theryl. Though the young Nord seemed unreliable with his shaggy beard and love of drink, he had managed to tame an unbound dremora. A rare feat for even the most experienced summoners. Her mother had tried to recruit one of Dagon's soldiers to her side often, failing each time. Not to mention Theryl's obvious skill in battle. The man even had the audacity to ask for her hand in marriage! Such confidence had to come from somewhere.

One day, when the sun was high and the other vampires were feasting, Serana stole away from Castle Volkihar and set off to find her Nord companion armed only with the knowledge that he was working with an organization called the Dawnguard.

So it came to be that Serana found herself confined to a room in Fort Dawnguard for days on end with nothing but cold, stale air and silence. The vampire hunters had tried to end her life on sight, but Serana was no slouch, fighting the Dawnguard to a standstill and convincing them that she was there seeking Theryl. The one they called Dragonborn.

The Dawnguard were not an impressive organization. Aside from Theryl, they seemed to be nothing more than a mismatched group of mediocre fighters. The fort was strong and their leader, a man named Isran, projected power. But the fort was empty, and Isran and his fighters were no match for her alone. Isran had even gone so far as to stick her in what must of been a torture chamber. A dimly lit room full of wooden racks complete with spinning wheels that would stretch the victims body to pieces, stocks, chains, whips, and other ancient equipment.

It was a laughable attempt at intimidation. To think that she, Serana, a master vampire—a Daughter of Coldharbour no less—would be scared of some blood and wood was ridiculous and said more about the pitiful state of the Dawnguard than it did about her. Still, she had no choice but to stay in her room waiting patiently, hoping that Theryl would show his face soon.

 _Bang!_

Serana started. The crashing of wood against stone broke through her haze of boredom and called her to attention. She poked her head out of the door, peering down onto the Fort's main hall. Isran stood in the center of the hall with his arms about his chest, dressed in full battle gear. The fort's strong wooden doors had been rudely thrown open. Theryl strode into the fort naked save for a pair of dirty, baggy trousers. His dremora, Chuckles, was right behind him, looking as bored as always.

"Where have you been?" Isran demanded. The redguard had a powerful, gravelly voice.

Theryl shrugged. "Killin', drinkin', whorin'. Usual dragonborn business. Why? Did you miss me? Have you spent the last few days yearning for my tender touch?"

Isran grit his teeth. From Serana's point of view it looked like it took every fiber of his being to resist cutting Theryl down.

"Because if that's the case," Theryl said. "I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you. This dragonborn is all ladies all the way. Not that there's anything wrong with a little good old fashioned man-on-man romp in the hay. Between you and me," Theryl leaned in, "I might have gotten the wires crossed once or twice when the drink took hold a bit too tightly. But you're not my type, Isran. Much too serious."

Chuckles snorted. The dremora was leaning against the stone walls and observing his master in silence.

"Would you be serious!" Isran shouted. "The fate of Skyrim hangs in the balance and you're making jokes!"

"See? So serious. Let me ask you a question, Isran," Theryl said. The tall Nord put his arms around the Redguard's shoulder, pulling him into a sideways embrace. "Have you ever had a Khajit and an Argonian at the same time?"

Isran sighed. His head drooped, his arms fell from his chest to hang limply by his sides.

"'Cause I'll tell you, brother, Skyrim could burn right now and I'd die a happy man. The things they can do with their tails," Theryl shivered, "makes a man feel like a maiden all over again."

"Dragonborn," Isran said.

"Remember, Khajits have fluffy tails. Not a lot of strength, but they're very versatile. Almost like a fifth limb."

"Dragonborn," Isran said.

"Argonians though, now those are _pure_ muscle and you don't have to deal with any hair if it gets in your mouth. Once they get that wrapped around your co-"

"DRAGONBORN!"

"What?" Theryl stepped away from Isran and arched his eyebrows. "I'm trying to boast about an impressive conquest here. What's your problem?"

"You have a guest."

"Me? A guest? Here? Who?"

Isran pointed his thumb towards the second story. Theryl followed his direction, seeing Serana's pretty face staring down at him, and broke into a wide grin.

"Ah! My fiance! I knew you'd be back."

"Fiance?" Isran asked.

Theryl ignored him, setting off immediately for the stairs. Chuckles followed lazily behind his master, as always. The sound of bare feet slamming against stone echoed throughout the empty fort as Theryl made his way up. He skidded to a halt, a wide grin on his face and sauntered into the room. He appraised Serana with lusty eyes and leaned against the torture rack. Unfortunately, the dragonborn rested all his weight on one of the wooden wheels which began to freely turn, sending him to the ground.

"Aw, tits!" Theryl exclaimed.

Serana watched the dragonborn fumbling around with pursed lips. He was obviously hungover, lacking any sort of grace, elegance, or general balance. He got on all fours, exposing the crack of his ass to Serana's poor, red, eyes. For a brief moment she thought about walking right out the fort's front doors. Surely this could not be the man she had been waiting days to see? This could not be the man upon whose shoulders she would thrust the fate of the world?

Chuckles entered the room, took one look at his master, and burst into a fit of giggles.

"Don't just stand there, Chuckles! The world has gone upside down, my vision is blurry, and death is soon to claim me!"

The large dremora grabbed Theryl by the back of the neck and easily helped him back onto his feet.

"Death is the one thing I doubt shall ever claim you, master," Chuckles said in his grating voice. "Although you shall forever be the slave of the hangover."

Theryl brushed himself off and Serana's nose began to burn. She inhaled sharply and realized that the dragonborn was emitting a foul odor; he smelled strongly of dirt, grime, filth, sweat, and stale alcohol. Such a stench it was that it did what centuries of macabre meals had never done: it made her gag.

"Good grief!" Serana spat on the floor. "You smell worse than death. When was the last time you had a bath?"

Theryl ignored her question, choosing instead to lean his weight on the rack—not on the wheels this time, but on the rack itself—and picking up where he had left off.

"Hello, sweetness," Theryl said, his voice heavy with what Serana assumed to be his attempt at a seductive tone. "I knew you'd be back, that you couldn't resist," Theryl ran his hand over his body, fingers leaving a black trail through the sheen of grime that covered his chest, "all of this."

Serana rolled her eyes.

"Days in solitary confinement for this? To have a drunken vagrant spew absurdities at me?"

"Your tone may be laced with sarcasm and content," Theryl said, undeterred, "but you still came back, didn't you? Stop lying to yourself, my beautiful undead rose. You know that there exists between us a bond that can never be broken. Down there, in that draugr infested death-trap, you felt it from the moment you fell into my arms. Don't deny our love."

Serana pinched the bridge of her nose, and breathed in deeply.

"Master," Chuckles said. "I admit that I know little of the arts of Nord seduction. However, may I suggest that your little speech would have had a bit more effect if you weren't staring so obviously at the vampire's cleavage?"

Theryl started, shifting his gaze from Serana's breasts to Chuckles and then, finally, to Serana's face.

"Can't fault a man for getting distracted."

"Good grief," Serana threw her head back, letting out an exasperated sigh. "I am here because—despite the fact that you look, smell, and act like a mangy skeever—you happen to be highly competent. From the little I've seen, anyway. Remember this?" She touched the Elder Scroll attached to her back, "Remember the prophecy? I came here because I need your help stopping my father."

"What prophecy?" Isran asked, genuinely curious.

"Ugh, here we go."

Theryl leaned on the wall, idly picking his nose while Serana gave Isran a bare-bones explanation of her father's plan to somehow end the reign of mortals and usher in an age of permanent night.

"And you knew about this and did nothing?" Isran asked through gritted teeth.

Theryl shrugged. "I'm kind of waiting to see how it all plays out, honestly."

"The fate of all mortals hangs in the balance and you're waiting to _see how it plays out?_ " Isran nearly shouted. The redguard unsheathed his sword in one smooth motion. "You should have relieved this _thing_ of the Elder Scroll the second you obtained this information!"

He swung his greatsword at Serana, aiming to cleave her in two. A difficult feat in the small confines of the torture chamber, but Isran had not survived decades of vampire hunting without becoming proficient with the blade. Serana raised her arms to defend herself. Violent red energy began pooling in her palms, but it was too late. Isran was quicker. There was a shout, a wild burst of energy that echoed throughout the fort, and a flash of blue light. Theryl pushed Serana out of the way and took the blow. Isran's blade cut through the dragonborn's torso, sending blood spraying throughout the room. It was a comparatively shallow cut, not enough to expose bone or spill guts, yet fatal all the same.

Chuckles was on Isran in a flash. He grabbed the redguard's wrist and twisted, disarming him, and, in one smooth motion, threw him against the wall. Everything happened so fast that Serana barely had time to process it. Theryl remained on his feet, a river of blood pouring from his wound. The dragonborn clenched his fist and let out a scream. Not a shout. This sound was imbued with pain, not power.

"AZURA'S _STAR!_ THAT HURT!"

His body was bathed in a brilliant yellow glow. Serana watched with wide eyes as his flesh reknit; skin came back together at the seams, blood ceased flowing and, in no time at all, the wound itself was gone. Not a scar remained.

Theryl thrust his right hand to the side. An intricate, sturdy warhammer appeared in his palm. He crossed the room in two strides, raising the hammer above his head as he went, fully intent on crushing Isran's skull. Chuckles drew his blade and clashed with his master's hammer.

"You will regret this, master," Chuckles said, struggling to hold back Theryl's strength.1 "See through the rage."

The seconds went by. All that could be heard was the sound of metal against metal as Chuckles's daedric blade held his master's hammer at bay, and Theryl's rapid breathing.

Theryl closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Quite right, Chuckles." He kicked Isran in the shins. The redguard was still dazed from being thrown so viciously against the wall. "I'm taking the vampire with me to the College of Winterhold and we're going to get to the bottom of this prophecy business."

Theryl spun on his bare heels and strode out of the room followed by Chuckles and a bewildered Serana. The trio made their way down the stairs and out of the empty fort into the brilliant sunlight.

"I don't understand," Serana said, pulling up her hood. "Why did you take the blade for me? And how did you survive?"

"Those who disrespect the school of restoration are doomed to die painful deaths, my dear," Theryl said.

Serana noticed that he had pointedly ignored her first question and kept her silence. She was struggling to keep up with the dragonborn and the dremora as they made their way down the path that lead from Fort Dawnguard. They walked for a solid fifteen minutes straight before Theryl's shoulders relaxed, the tension leaving his body as he basked in the sunlight.

"Have you finally calmed down?" Chuckles asked.

"Yes, I'm fine," Theryl turned to face Serana. "We'll get to the College eventually. I hope you don't mind making a few stops along the way. First we have to get to Whiterun?"

"What's in Whiterun?"

"Nothing important. Just my clothes, weapons, and gold. Nothing I can't make do without. Well, there is something important. My rum. But before all that there is something more important I need to tend to."

"What could be more important than a vampiric prophecy to put out the sun?" Serana asked, crossing her arms about her chest.

"I need to bathe. I've been smelling myself for the last few minutes and my eyes are starting to burn."

(That's the end of this chapter guys. I've been gone for a few months, I know. I do that a lot. I've been dealing with a lot of crap this year. Coming to terms with the fact that life hasn't turned out at all like how I imagined it would, basically. I've been struggling to find a decent job and my current job leaves me so beat at the end of the day that I can't find the energy to write. Driving around in 30 degree weather in a busted up van with no air con for seven hours a day will do that to you. BUT! I hope that you guys enjoyed this chapter of Theryl's story and will leave me a review. I'm trying to shake all the rust off so I welcome all forms of constructive criticism. Hopefully there are still people who read this fic. See you guys next time.)


	6. Castration

The ground was cold, hard with frost. The trio had made their way from Fort Dawnguard all the way to the outskirts of Windhelm. The area was dotted with the skeletons of mammoths long dead, giants tending their massive flock, sturdy shrubs and trees, and many natural hot springs. Serana sat on the ground with her hood down, unbothered by the biting cold wind. Though her flesh, unlike those of lesser vampires, was immune to the sun's rays, she shielded her eyes with her hands to avoid the blinding sight that lay before her. The dragonborn was standing in waist-deep water, stark naked, scrubbing himself with a jagged rock, his family jewels exposed for all to see.

"Does he have no shame?" Serana muttered.

Chuckles was sitting beside her, idling perusing a novel about an adventurous Khajit who fell in love with a Redguard tavern owner. He looked first at his naked master who was whistling a jaunty tune, then at the vampire who would have surely been blushing if her blood had not run cold centuries ago.

"None at all, I'm afraid," Chuckles said.

Theryl lifted one leg high in the air and began to viciously attack his perineum, scraping the stone against his tender flesh as if he meant to tear it off.

"Oh, for crying out loud!" Serana turned her back to the dragonborn, unable to bear the sight of his dangling coin-purse any longer.

"Yes, the master does not bathe often," Chuckles said, "but when he does it is with great gusto that he cleanses his flesh."

He put his book down, careful to mark his progress.

"You humans are strange creatures. I would have assumed that you would greatly appreciate the sight of the master washing himself."

Serana's jaw dropped, her brows raised so high that they threatened to take flight, abandoning their owner to a life of brow-less shame.

She pointed at Theryl without looking in his direction. "I may have been asleep for thousands of years, but I'd have to sleep until the sun shines in Coldharbour before I find that pot-bellied alcoholic attractive."

Chuckles shrugged, resuming his book. "They always say that. In the beginning. Then the next thing you know you're both behind a tree rutting like rabid dogs while I stand guard to make sure no one gets the jump on him and cuts of his genitals. Again."

"You can rest easy knowing that that will never-wait, again? What do you mean again? He's been castrated before?"

"Oh yes. Many times in fact. There was Taahni, a Khajit nomad who peddled moon sugar," Chuckles said, using his fingers to count. "She came after him while he slept after he stole her entire supply, ate a good bit of it, and used the rest as flour to bake his sweetrolls. Then there was Kirstte. A wonderful, bright eyed young Nord who studied with the master at the College of Winterhold. He used sweet lies and false promises to weed his way between her legs and she shot a gout of flame between his after she caught him with her visiting sister. Then there was the entire debacle with that female Orc chieftain, Bula."

Chuckles gazed into empty space, a wistful look on his face. "A woman of style and grace, Bula. I always liked her. Took a battle-axe to his sausage. Cleaved it very nearly evenly in two."

Serana stared at Chuckles in disbelief. "So how..."

"Does he still have reproductive organs?" Chuckles said. "I have said it many times before, vampire, but I shall say it again. The master is a creature of unbelievable power. Using that power to regrow genitalia is a bit unorthodox, but he lives his life according to his own truths."

"Are you having a conversation about my jibbly bits?"

Serana turned and found herself at eye level with Theryl's hanging tackle. She grabbed the edge of her hood and yanked it down, retreating from the horrible sight into the pleasant darkness.

"Good grief! It's like a frostbite spider hiding in the bushes!"

Chuckles arched his brow. "Looks more like a shriveled wisp to me."

Theryl, having no sense of shame, humility, or basic human decency, placed both hands on his hips and spoke with a booming voice. "I'll have you know, Chuckles, that I take that as a compliment. Like the wisp, my Norse sausage is a proud, hardy thing ready to surprise all those who underestimate it. Besides, I have no choice." Theryl held up a battered, wet rag. "I tried washing my trousers—they were a bit gamy—and they fell apart. So I am left no choice but to wander these lands with naught to protect me from the harsh winds save for the warmth of my vampire companion."

Serana scoffed. "Even if my body was able to generate a single dying ember's worth of warmth, I would gladly let you freeze to death."

"Ah, then I would die as I lived: wide-eyed and stiff as a board. All I would miss is a bottle of strong wine and a sturdy tavern wench with a saggy bosom and a fat-"

"Master," Chuckles said, barely repressing a throaty giggle. "Perhaps you should refrain from doing further damage to our companion's mental faculties and focus on getting some clothes? While we have established your abilities to. . . _regenerate_ it would be an issue if it. . .froze and fell off."

Theryl winced.

"Or if a mangy wolf got it's jaws around you."

Theryl crossed his legs.

"Or if a mudcrab pinched it with those awfully sharp-"

"Alright! Enough!"

Theryl shuddered, crossing his ankles, touching his knees together and shielding his precious jewels from the claws of any nasty mudcrabs that may have been hiding nearby.

"You've made your point! And for future reference you can keep all amusing fantasies involving my painful castration to yourself." Theryl clasped his hands together, loudly cracking his knuckles. "Alright, you can both wait here while I go find some pants."

Serana opened her mouth to ask the obvious question: where did he expect to find a pair of pants in the wilds of Skyrim, far from the strongholds of men or mer? The words never left her lips. She saw Theryl open his mouth, but she did not hear the words he said. The vampire felt a ripple of force wash over her, bathing her in soft power for a fraction of a second, before leaving her completely.

"Looks like we're in luck," Theryl said, suddenly serious.

"Bandits?" Chuckles said.

Theryl shrugged. "Could be stormcloaks. Eight figures, no undead, no beasts. Two standing guard, one of them is sitting slumped around what I assume to be a fire. Let's hope it's not a group of hunters or something, otherwise I'll have to barter."

"Do you require assistance?"

Theryl rolled his eyes, snorting loudly. "As if. Stay here and keep Serana company. I shan't be long."

Serana heard the sounds of bare feet hitting the earth, loudly at first, then it slowly faded away. She removed her hood, blinking in the sunlight. The dragonborn had walked put a good amount of distance between himself and his companions, enough for Serana to pretend that he was clothed.

"He did something just now," Serana said. "It felt as if I was hit by a warm breeze."

"Ah, you felt that, did you?" Chuckles said, crossing his arms. "It seems that you are more capable than I had assumed, vampire. You were hit by one of the master's shouts. Aura whisper. It reveals to him all beings. Living or dead, daedra or dragon. There is no hiding."

Theryl had disappeared completely from view, rounding the base of a nearby hill. Serana drew her legs to her chest, wrapping her arms around her knees. Now that Theryl was no longer around to assault her with his nudity, she could finally take in the sight of Skyrim's wilderness in its harsh splendor. Sitting there, gazing idly at the water and stone, she almost felt as if she were back in her mother's garden playing amongst the flowers while the older vampire brewed her potions. She closed her eyes, enjoying the silence. Chuckles had settled back into his book, perhaps sensing that she wanted to be alone. But, as many citizens of Skyrim were well aware off, there was no such thing as peace an quiet when the dragonborn was around.

A loud shrieked ripped Serana's precious stillness to pieces. Her eyes snapped open, she twisted her neck in time to see two fully grown Nords sailing through the air, their limbs flailing like mad. Serana flinched, readying herself to hear the sickening splat as their bodies slammed into the ground, but the dragonborn spared her delicate senses. Twin bolts of pure lightning crackled through the air, silencing the Nords, reducing their bodies to light grey ash that was blown away by the wind.

Chuckles got to his feet, slamming his book shut. "Ah, looks like the master is finished. Let's join him, shall we?"

Serana and Chuckles gathered their things and followed the path that the dragonborn had walked mere minutes before. Serana firmly gripped the hilt of her dagger, making sure that she was prepared for a fight. Chuckles, on the other hand, had a rucksack slung over one shoulder, his book in his hand, and his sword hanging loosely by his hips.

As they rounded the corner, Serana drew to a halt. What lay before her had obviously been a small campsite. Three tents, a makeshift bench, and a pot bubbling over what must have been a roaring fire. Everything was frozen solid, encased completely in three inches of solid ice. Upon closer inspection Serana noticed that there were people in the ice. Tall Nords wearing blue uniforms and iron helmets. In the center of the wreckage stood the dragonborn. Theryl was now fully clothed in a set of spare furs and he was picking idly at his boots.

"Damn things," Theryl said.

"Problem, master?" Chuckles said drily.

"I hate wearing other people's boots, Chuckles. They never fit quite right."

"All the more reason to make haste to Whiterun, I would say."

"Indeed," Theryl nodded. "Besides, the stupid Stormcloaks didn't even have any rum. No rum! Can you believe that? Imagine Skyrim if they had won the war. Nothing Dunmer tail to chase and no rum to drink. Ugh."

Finally, he noticed Serana staring at him with a dumbfounded look on her face.

"Oi! Don't just stand there gawking. We're wasting daylight! Let's go!"

 _So, I've been gone for a while. I know, I know, I'm going to promise to be consistent and upload more and then I'll disappear for another three and a half months. You sound just like my therapist. Oh, yeah, I have a therapist now. And a job I can actually stand. I've been adulting, but life still isn't satisfying to me. Going to continue to journey towards getting published and really, really try to write more. Also, I've made a facebook profile! You can find me at Jon Clay_ _if you want to drop me a line and have a conversation. It's the public profile with the One Piece profile pic_ _. Hope all is well with you guys. If there's still anyone reading this, that is._


	7. Dinner with a Jarl

Jarl Balgruuf's private study was a quiet room hidden deep within the hall of Dragonsreach. The cold stone walls were bereft of books or scrolls, instead holding a plethora of ancient weapons and armor. The man himself sat in a comfortable chair behind a long table laden with food and drink. Balgruuf was once a powerful warrior, a proud gem of the Imperial Legion. Years of rule and an absence of hard, physical work had led to him growing thinner than the average middle-aged Nord, but the Jarl had retained his quick wit and skill with the blade. He sipped from a goblet full of sweet mead while he waited for his guest to arrive. He did not have to wait long.

The great wooden door was roughly thrown open to reveal an annoyed Nord with a shaggy beard followed closely by an angry Dark-Elf and a non-plussed Dremora.

"You're like a wife, you know," Theryl said. "Can't get what you want by brute force so you resort to assaulting me with guilt and mild inconveniences."

The dragonborn stomped into the room and took his seat at the table directly opposite the Jarl's. The Dark-Elf—his faithful housecarl, Irileth—put one hand on the hilt of her blade.

"Why you worthless-"

"Worthless cur, insolent welp, drunken idiot, selfish lover, blah, blah, blah," Theryl waved his hand dismissivly at Irileth, helping himself to a fresh bottle of wine. "If you're going to insult me you can at least attempt to be original, Irileth. Oh, and you might as well give up on threatening me with violence. I may just call you on your bluff given my foul mood. And we both know that you're not stupid enough to throw your life away by honestly trying to fight me."

Chuckles glanced sideways and bit his lower lip to hold in his laughter. The proud Dark-Elf was obviously angry, almost angry enough to actually resort to violence. Sadly, all hopes of a fight were dashed when the Jarl raised his palm, commanding his housecarl to stand down.

"I must ask, Theryl," Balgruuf said. "Why have you brought a vampire into my city? That seems reckless even for you."

There was a bottle of strong, dark liquor on the table. Theryl grabbed it, popped the cork, and immediately threw half of it down his gullet.

"Official dragonborn business."

"No doubt," Balgruuf said. "However, you must appreciate my position. I can hardly excuse a vampire feeding on my people."

"Relax," Theryl said, slurping down the other half of the bottle's contents. "She doesn't need to feed."

"What sort of vampire doesn't need to feed?" Irileth said. She was leaning against a wall with her arms crossed about her chest, her dislike of the dragonborn displayed plainly on her ace.

"A thousand year old pure-bred Daughter of Coldharbour. That sort."

Balgruuf bowed towards the dragonborn. "I shall trust your judgement. Chuckles, Irileth, please leave us. I would like privacy while I dine with my friend."

"Come on, Chuckles," Irileth said. "Let us leave the Jarl to converse with the swine in peace. How does a bottle of brandy sound?"

"Lovely, my dear lady. Dare I presume that this brandy shall be accompanied by a platter of fresh goat's cheese?"

Irileth nodded. "And some wonderfully cooked venison, my friend."

Once the Dremora and the Dark-Elf had left the room, closing the door behind them with a gentle thud, Theryl rolled his eyes and began plating his food. The table was laden with enough food to feed a battalion of legionnaires. There was a taureen full of piping hot onion soup next to a platter of crispy, buttered bread. Several cuts of steak lay in the center of the table and there was a garden's worth of vegetables and potatoes, and, most importantly, there were at least six bottles of wine and liquor.

Theryl grabbed a fresh bottle of liquor first. To him, wine was best when it was sweet and served with freshly made cake. He took a quick gulp, taking a moment to savor the way the alcohol burned his chest, before helping himself to a bowl of soup, some cuts of steak, and a spoonful of potatoes.

"So, Irileth still hates me. Nice to see that that hasn't changed," Theryl dipped a piece of bread into his soup before jamming it into his mouth.

"You slept with her best friend."

"Her friend was hot."

"Then, you slept with her friend's mother."

"Her friend's mother was hotter," Theryl shrugged.

"Ah, Theryl," Balgruuf sighed. "How have you been, my brother?"

"Well, I've been walking across Skyrim for the past few days trying to keep an eye on a vampire with an Elder Scroll strapped across her back with not a single drop of rum or beer to tide me over. All in all, not too bad. Except for the not having any rum part. That part sucks. How did you spot me that quickly, anyway? Normally I'm able to squeeze a few drinks in before you send your guards to harrass me."

Balgruuf took a bite of his steak, red juice leaking through his lips as he spoke. "The wall guards spotted you from a distance. Chuckles may be a good companion, but he is quite noticable with his bright red skin and whatnot."

"Racist."

"I find it hard to believe that my guards harrassed you," Balgruuf said. "They adore you and are painfully aware of your strength."

"They sort of just stood around me in a circle and refused to move. My choices were to either attack or go along with their orders," Theryl shrugged. "I wasn't about to go murdering a bunch of hapless guards, so here I am."

"I had to resort to such extreme measures because I would have never gotten you hear otherwise," Balgruuf poured himself a goblet of wine and took a measured sip. "Once you get started with the booze there's no telling when you'll stop."

"Speaking of booze, why am I here Balgruuf? I assume that you have something important to talk to me about? Otherwise, you could have just found me in the tavern like you usually do."

"What I need to discuss is not something that everyone should hear."

Theryl nodded understandingly. "So it's finally happened, huh? Your little legionnaire has stopped saluting. The old tackle can't catch anymore fish. Ah, don't wory, Balgruuf old pal. There's a special brew I have that can remedy this situation! Between you and me," Theryl leaned in and whispered conspiratorily, "I have a similar problem when I have too much of the drink. What you need to do is get a slaughterfish, stuff it full of troll fat, and-"

"The Jarls are thinking of convening a Moot."

The Jarl's words hung in the air. All that could be heard was the sound of ensconced torches burning away. Theryl leaned back and took a swig from his bottle.

"Oh? And who are they thinking of crowning High King? A bucket of pig fat? A troll's wedding tackle? Because either one would be a better option than Elisif."

"Must you be so vulgar?"

"Yes."

"This is serious, Theryl," Balgruuf said. He placed both elbows on the table and interlocked his fingers. "The war is over and Skyrim needs a new ruler."

Theryl's chair scraped against the stone floor as he got to his feet. "I'm not concerned with Skrim's politics. You and the other Jarls may do as you please, but know this. Ulfric Stormcloak is dead, but his movement lives on. Elisif is an Imperial pawn. Don't disrespect me by trying to argue otherwise. The woman won't even decide on a meal without consulting her four sycophants and at least one vagrant."

"I agree. Which is why we need you to be a part of the process, Theryl. The people know you and dare I say that they love you as well. You vanquished the World-Eater. You defeated Ulfric. They respect your opinion. As things stand there is no better candidate than Elisif, but your words may change that."

"I've said it many times and I will keep saying it until it penetrates your thick skull: I am not a politican. All I try to do is keep the war and bloodshed to a minimum. If you put the crown on the head of an obvious puppet like Elisif the people will revolt. Skyrim has always been quasi-independent. Her people will not take kindly to being so plainly under Imperial rule."

"You can't have it both ways, Theryl," Balgruuf crossed his arms about his chest. "You are Skyrim's hero. Eventually you will have to take on some actual responsibility."

Theryl opened the door and paused while standing in the threshold. "I'm going to have a beer. If you want to join me and have a drink as friends, then I welcome you. If, however, you wish to keep discussing this nonsense then you're better off staying away from me tonight as I plan to get absolutely devastatingly drunk."

The dragonborn did not wait for the Jarl to reply. He stomped up the stairs trying to keep his temper under control. The Jarls were always like this, every single one. Content to sit on their thrones in their great halls lording over the people all day, doing nothing unless it was convenient for them, and getting royally pissed off when you didn't jump at their command. Theryl found Chuckle's in the main hall sharing a glass of brandy with Irileth. All it took was one look at his master's face for him to shoot up and fall in step behind Theryl.

"Trouble, master?"

"None whatsoever, Chuckles my boy!" Theryl said, forcing himself to sound cheery. "But there will be trouble. Come on, let's go get drunk together. That's an order."


	8. From Whiterun to Winterhold

Breezehome was a cozy house near the gates of Whiterun. It was well-lit, clean, adorned with flowers, and smelled of lilacs. The walls were lined shelves that were laden with books, and the living room was dominated by a massive wooden table that was covered by scrolls and tomes. There was a fire roaring in the kitchen over which a pot of something hot and delicious had been simmering all morning. It was a far cry from the palace of blood and butchery that Serana had called home for hundreds of years, and it was definitely not the kind of place that Serana had expected the dragonborn to rest his head.

The brief time Serana had spent in the dragonborn's company had led her to believe that his home would be a filthy, damp, dirty space littered with food scraps and empty bottles. Like a stable or pig-pen, but somehow worse in every way. A place fit for a raving alcoholic who isn't ashamed to piss into the wind or fall asleep in a swamp. She had never expected his home to be so. . .quaint. Actually, calling it his home was a bit of a stretch. The dragonborn had entered Whiterun, told Serana to keep herself out of trouble and stay indoors before heading to the tavern with the aim of getting—in his words—so drunk that he'd feel like he lived through a dragon break. What exactly a 'dragon break' was, Serana did not know, but Theryl had apparently been summoned to dine with the Jarl and had yet to return.

And so she waited. She waited on Theryl's bed, staring at the ceiling. She waited in his alchemical laboratory, idly brewing simple potions with his ingredients. She waited in the basement, where she tasted some of the wine he kept in stock, and, when the light came the following day, she waited at the table in the living room, staring out of the window at the lively streets outside. At least she wasn't completely alone.

Lydia was a strong Nord warrior. A woman with broad shoulders, an angular face, and black hair that was braided on the left side. Serana had spent much of the previous day and part of the night getting to know her. Lydia didn't seem to mind the fact that Serana was a vampire. In fact she seemed thoroughly nonplussed. She was Theryl's housecarl, which meant that she had devoted her life to the service and protection of Theryl and his home. Serana's heart ached with grief for the poor girl.

Lydia sat opposite Serana with a quill in her hand and a neatly organized set of letters and parchment before her. To her left was an inkwell and to her right was a piping hot goblet of spiced wine.

"You should probably go look for him," Lydia said without looking up from the letter she was writing.

"I'm not too sure that the people of Whiterun would take too kindly to a vampire wandering about," Serana said. "He did tell me to stay put after all."

Lydia shrugged, taking a small sip from her goblet. "I doubt that. The master spends quite a lot of time here in Whiterun. The townsfolk are accustomed to his eccentricities."

"Eccentricities? I didn't know that being a dirty, raving alcoholic was enough to make you eccentric."

"It is when you have enough gold," Lydia said with a small smile. "Besides, the master was a vampire once, and if the people can get used to Chuckles then they can certainly get used to you."

Serana leaned back, crossed her arms about her chest and raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean he was a vampire?"

"I mean he was a vampire. Red eyes, pale skin, fangs and all. You'd have to ask him about it, honestly. He doesn't tell me much."

"Tch," Serana pursed her lips. Her gaze shifted from Lydia to the corner of the room where she had placed the Elder Scroll. She never left it out of sight, preferring to keep it on her person whenever possible.

Gallavanting across Skyrim with Theryl and Chuckles was not an altogether unpleasant experience, Serana had to admit. She had spent her entire life confined within the cold stone walls of Castle Volkihar, forbidden from ever exploring Skyrim's vast wilderness. Being able to relax under the night's sky with nothing but the stars and a dying fire for light filled her with unparalled joy. But none of that changed the fact that the world was in danger and she needed to help save it.

Serana jumped to her feet, earning a raised eyebrow from a bemused Lydia, donned her cowl, snatched the Elder Scroll and stepped out of Breezehome into Whiterun where she was immediately accosted by a stout Nord dressed in armor normally worn by Imperial Legionnaires.

"So you're the vampire everyone is talking about," The Nord said. "The dragonborn is an even bigger idiot than I thought, allowing a monster to roam free in our city. I should kill you where you stand, monster."

Serana narrowed her eyes, readying herself for a fight.

"Oh, piss off Idolaf."

Both Serana and the Nord—who was named Idolaf, apparently—turned towards the source of the voice: an Imperial woman with a strong frame and a face marred by soot and burns. This was Adrianne Avennici, Theryl's neighbor. Serana had seen her and Lydia speaking earlier that morning.

Idolaf grit his teeth and threatenly placed a hand on the hilt of the sword he wore on his hip. "Mind your business, Adrianne. You may be able to stomach the sight of a blood sucking monster trotting through Whiterun, but I cannot. I'm going to kill her and you'd be smart to stay out of my-"

"Yes, yes, you're quite the hero," Adrianne said, rolling her eyes. "You have nothing to gain from fighting this vampire. She's obviously quite strong so you'll probably die, and if you somehow manage to win then you'll have to answer directly to Theryl. You remember how your last confrontation with the dragonborn went, right?"

Idolaf grit his teeth.

"Allow me to refresh your memory. It ended with you on your belly in the town square with Theryl's boot on your neck and your son begging the dragonborn to spare his father's life. If you want to have that happen again then by all means proceed, but I always thought that you were more intelligent than that."

The blond Nord spun on his heels and stomped off without uttering a single word. His back was arrow straight, his shoulders tense.

"Thank you for that," Serana said.

Adrianne turned away from Serana. "Don't be mistaken. I'm not any happier to have a vampire walking around Whiterun than Idolaf, but, if you've got business with Theryl, then it must be important."

With those words, she left Serana standing in the street. The vampire pursed her lips, fastened the hood of her cowl, and set off to find the dragonborn. She didn't have to go far.

"Let me die a youngman's death! Not a clean and inbetween the sheets holy water death, not a famous last words peaceful out of breath death!"

Chuckles and his master were sitting beneath a tree in front of the Temple of Mara. Both men were shirtless, obviously drunk, and surrounded by a giggling gaggle of women in bright orange robes. Their bare chests were covered in a thin sheen of sweat and grime.

Theryl hoisted a bottle of ale into the air. "Preach, my brother! Preach it to the gods! May all of Skyrim quake with fear at the beauty of your thu'um!"

"Are you serious right now?!" Serana screamed. "The faith of the entire world rests in your hands and you're here getting drunk with a bunch of harlots?"

"Ah! My lovely fiance has graced us with her presence at last! Look upon her, maidens of Mara, look upon the most graceful flower to ever bloom in the harsh wilderness of Skyrim!"

"Oh, a vampire!" One of the priestess said with a gasp.

"Never fear, Master Dragonborn," Another priestess said. "Lady Mara smiles on love in all of its forms."

Serana took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You stupid, worthless son of a draugr. I am not your fiance! Need I remind you that while you're here drinking like a fool and groping priestess flesh that there is an army of vampires ready to destroy the entire world? And you," Serana rounded on Chuckles. "I expected better from you."

Chuckles pursed his lips, his face full of shame.

"Oh, calm down," Theryl said. "There's no need to pick on poor little Chuckles for following his master's instructions."

The dragonborn got to his feet, stretching his aching muscles. "I can tell that you're not going to let me relax until we get this done. So I suppose I should actually get a bit serious now."

"Good," Serana sighed. "Now, I have some ideas on where we should go-"

Theryl snapped his fingers.

A burst of raw arcane energy rippled through the air. The gentle townsfolk who were curiously looking on were suddenly frozen in place. Serana, Chuckles, and Theryl were briefly bathed in a blinding light. When the light faded Serana found herself standing in the middle of a dim library.

"Would it kill you to take the stairs for once?"

The speaker was an elderly orc with a face full of wrinkles and scorn. He wore an orange mage's robe and was leaning heavily on a massive desk.

"Wha-?" Serana said, confused.

"Your return is most welcome, Master." The speaker was another orc. Like the first orc, this one was obviously aged, but he was obviously a warrior. He wore nothing but a set of fur trousers. There were six white soul gems embedded in his torso surrounding a glowing gem with eight arms that spiraled out from a glowing center.

"Hey, it's my two favorite orcs," Theryl said, idly digging his ear. "Urag and Thor. Got any news for me?"

"Where am I?" Serana asked, trying to take in her surroundings.

"The College of Winterhold," said Chuckles. "The master's chief domain."

"As a matter of fact I do," Urag said. "There's something that I believe requires your immediate attention. Someone of great importance has gone missing."

"Let me guess," Theryl said. "A moth priest disappeared somewhere in the general area of Solitude?"

"The master's wisdom is limitless as always," said the orc named Thor.

"We're in Winterhold?" Serana said.

"Hm? Well, yes," Theryl said. "You're the one who is in a rush to save the world so I brought us here."

Serana's blood ran cold. Her shoulders slumped.

"And you could have done this at any time, I presume?"

Theryl nodded with a smug smile on his face. "Of course! I mastered teleportation a long time ago."

"So all those days spent travelling through Skrim, sleeping in the dirt and freezing cold were for nothing? You could have snapped your fingers and brought us here at anytime?"

"Obviously, yeah."

Serana went for his throat.

 _The poem Chuckles was riffing is Let me die a youngman's death by Roger McGough. It's pretty good, but I can't write poetry at all. Hope you guys like this chapter._


	9. An Uncomfortable Conversation

It was a rare day in Skyrim. There was a blizzard raging in Winterhold. Which wasn't much of a surprise, really. It would have been of more note if the skies were clear. Theryl's clear skies shout wasn't able to keep the snow from falling for more than a few hours at a time in this area. Why? He didn't know and didn't care much to find out. No, it was a rare day in Skyrim because, for once, Theryl had a chance to relax.

He was laying on his bed in the archmage's quarters, below a thick, fluffy quilt and propped up on a small mountain of pillows with a goblet full of warm spiced wine and a good was off doing...whatever it was Chuckles did when he had time to spare and Serana was off caring for the moth priest that they had rescued a few days prior. The old man was in bad shape but he would live. If years of tedious study hadn't done him in then a few days getting his mind attacked by a bunch of amateur vampires surely wouldn't. Theryl sipped his wine. It burned his throat, bringing both pleasure and pain.

"Ahh," Theryl thought. "What a wonderful night."

His door slammed open with a loud thud. A gust of cold wind blew in from the hallway making Theryl wince. In the doorway stood Serana. The vampire had abandoned her usual cloak and ugly dress for a loose pair of trousers and a thin shirt that was tucked into her waistbandTheryl rolled his eyes. Lately the vampire had become quite the irritation.

"What now?" Theryl said. "Can't I have any time for myself or do you honestly expect me to work like a tireless machine? Not all of us are blessed with the ability to go weeks without rest. I need sleep, woman."

Serana sucked her teeth. "Dexion is fine. You'd think that you'd care more seeing as how his injuries are all your fault."

"My fault?" Theryl scoffed. "Am I the one who kidnapped him and held him in a cave for days? Then I fail to see how his injuries have anything to do with me at all."

"You know what I mean," Serana crossed her arms. "If you hadn't wasted so much time getting stone cold drunk and galavanting over Skyrim then he wouldn't have gotten caught in the first place."

Theryl closed his book. "Did you damage your brain when you hit that wall? I'm not the one who kidnapped him and tortured him with poorly thought out vampire magic. Your loving father did that."

Serana's blood began to boil. She clenched her fist as the shame of her attempt on Theryl's life resurfaced. She had lunged at him in her anger, fully intent on ripping his throat out. The dragonborn hadn't even taken her hadn't bothered to dodge or repel her attack. He had used one of his strange shouts to give himself an ethereal form, flawlessly shifting his body from the physical realm to the one of shades and specters. Serana had sailed through her target and collided head first with the library's stone wall. And as if to add insult to injury, the dragonborn had the audacity to laugh-actually laugh-at her pathetic attempt on his life. It didn't end there. She got back up and, in an attempt to win back her pride, she drew her daggers and made to slice him to pieces. This too was easily rebuffed.

The dragonborn had lazily flicked a finger at her and the resulting blast of air had sent her flying backwards into the same wall she had gotten to know before. In the end the Chuckles had taken pity on her, putting a stop to their little dispute and successfully irritated the dragonborn into action. Two days after that they had Dexion free of his captors and recuperating in the college.

"That may be true," Serana said. "But you have to admit that if you weren't so lazy then he would have been spared of much suffering. Don't you care about that? At all? Aren't you supposed to be the hero of Skyrim?"

Theryl narrowed his eyes. "Do not dare to judge me or my choices. You have no idea what it's like. You, who lived your life in a stone palace with nothing to care about but your precious mummy and daddy. Every single choice I make—every action or lack thereof—has consequences. No matter what I do, people will be never be happy. No matter the path I walk, people will die. Being alive for a thousand years seems to have done nothing to cure you of your youthful naivety. Listen to the words I say and hold it deep within your heart: not everyone can be saved. People will always die. I learned this lesson the hard way when I was forced to intervene in that blasted civil war."

The air in the room had grown unnaturally cold. Serana's breath caught in her throat. Theryl seemed to radiate an aura of pure power. A raw, primal energy that made her feel very, very small.

"Do I side with the imperials and slaughter the stormcloaks? A group of idiots who ignored an entire history of internal strife and war and dedicated themselves to the fiction of a united Skyrim? Or do I side with the stormcloaks and turn my might against the legion that my father once fought for and take the lives of an equally stupid bunch who have fooled themselves into thinking that this quiet, false peace can be maintained? Either way thousands of flames, each a young man or woman with their own dreams, hopes, aspirations, and families, would be snuffed out."

Serana gulped. "I...I understand where you're coming from. But you still need to take this seriously! What if my father's plan had succeeded and he had gotten Dexion to read the scroll? What would we have done then?"

Theryl rolled his eyes and returned his focus to his book. "An Elder Scroll isn't a piece of parchment that can be easily decoded. They are, each of them, a fragment of reality whose contents can only be glimpsed by those who have spent decades preparing themselves for the task. Vampire thralls are little more than meat puppets. Walking flesh who have had their minds and wills thoroughly broken. By enthralling Dexion they would have broken his mind, rendering him unable to perceive the contents of the scrolls as he would have been singly focused on serving his master. Now go. Leave me alone. I promise that I'll put an end to this farce as soon as possible."

Serana spun on her heels, eager to free herself from the rather uncomfortable conversation. She had touched a nerve, she knew that. "All I wanted was for you to take this task seriously. The fate of the entire world rests on your shoulders."

Theryl shrugged. "Seems like it always does."

 _A wild update appeared! This chapter is a bit more serious than the others. I wanted to take some time to give you guys a glimpse of Theryl's thought processes. I'm also going to speed things up a bit going forward and skip some of the fluff._


	10. The Garden

Theryl took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the putrid scent of rotting corpses, floating entrails, and freshly charred death hounds that dominated the undercroft of Castle Volkihar.

"Ahh, this smell brings back memories."

"The smell of death and decay brings back memories? Really?" Serana said, sheathing her daggers.

Theryl crossed his arms about his chest and nodded sagely. "Don't get me wrong. I'm quite fond of Skyrim's cold, crisp, fresh air, but it can be too much of a good thing, you know? Every now and then you need to give the lungs a good shock to make sure they're running properly. Besides, better to be breathing in air heavy with the odor of blood and gore than to torture oneself with the dry, musty atmosphere that haunts the millions of draugr crypts that seem to be everywhere around Skyrim."

"I see."

In an effort to preserve her sanity, Serana had finally taken Chuckles' advice. She no longer contested the random stream of alcohol-tinged stupidity that flowed forth from Theryl's maw. Uttering the occasional mundane pleasantry had the effect of denying the dragonborn a path that would distract him from their overall goal and, at this point, she would do nearly anything to finally get the job done and be rid of Theryl forever.

"You know what all that dust does to your sinuses?"

"No," Serana muttered. "What?"

"Drives it bloody mad that's what! Flay 'em, freeze 'em, burn 'em or shock 'em. Doesn't make a damned lick of difference with the stupid draugr. They all go down with a big cloud of dust that is guaranteed—*guaranteed* I say—to send you into an embarrassing fit of sneezing and sniffling."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes," Theryl said, following Serana through the undercroft. "I've been run through with an ancient greatsword more times than I would like to admit just because of a poorly timed sneeze. It's the worst part about exploring draugr dens, really."

"Wouldn't the worst part of draugr dens be the draugr themselves?" Serana said.

Theryl shrugged. "Not really. Draugr are no fundamentally no different than other skeleton. Albeit with the ability to use shouts and some rudimentary spells. But their bones smash as easily as any other."

To illustrate his point Theryl thrust his palms forward. The air before him curdled, growing heavy like mist, taking the form of an intricate warhammer. He raised it about his head and brought it down with a powerful swing.

"One or two of those and it's game over!"

The warhammer disappeared in a puff of smoke and Theryl placed his hands on his hips. A stupid grin was plastered on his ruddy face, as if his little display was something to be proud of. Serana let out a small sigh and continued trudging through the darkness, eager to be free of both the dragonborn and the putrid filth. Thankfully, she did not have to wait long as their journey through the bowels of Castle Volkihar came to an abrupt end when she through open a door that was little more than a mass of rotted planks and rusty hinges and found herself facing a truly tragic scene. Her mother's garden, the site of so many cherished memories, was ruined.

"No. . ." A single tear rolled down her cheek.

The beautiful flowers that she had spent so many years tending, the alchemical plants whose properties had been lovingly taught to her by her mother, Valerica, everything was gone. Like her mother, like her family, the garden she within which she had grown had decayed. A grim reminder that all that she had once held dear was gone and would never come back.

"Huh. I didn't know vampires could cry," Theryl said, taking a drink of mead from his canteen. "I'll have to remember to note that."

Serana fell to her knees and let out a bark-like laugh. "Well, I'm glad that you find my misery useful. All of my hopes are now officially destroyed. The garden is dead. The last place where I saw my mother, the last place where we were really and truly a family is nothing more than dust in the wind, but, hey, now Theryl the drunken asshole knows that vampires can cry so it was all worth it."

Her words were laced with despair and her bitter laughter gave way to anguished sobs that wracked her entire body. Theryl took another sip of mead and made his way to one of the flowerbeds.

"Honestly, there's no need to be dramatic."

Serana raised her eyes and watched as Theryl plunged his fingers into the loamy soil. He took a deep breath, filling his body with magical energy that made his body glow with a brilliant blue light. Then, he exhaled. The energy flowed out of his body, through his fingers and into the soil. Serana watched, wide eyed, as the plants that had been dead for decades—centuries, even—slowly came back to life. The stems straightened, energized by the dragonborn's magicka. Branches grew, giving birth to knew leaves and bulbs before her very eyes.

"Everything eventually comes to an end, Serana," Theryl said. "Families grow apart, lovers grow distant, and lives end, leaving behind nothing more than an imprint. Memories, legacies, and dynasties are all that remain and these too will erode by the will of Akatosh. Such is the sad reality of our existence."

"Wha-"

"But in every end there is a new beginning, and it is not altogether impossible to recover what was once lost," Theryl said, motioning to the now thriving flowerbed.

The dragonborn knelt before Serana and cupped her face in his hands. The skin of his palms were rough and calloused, but they brought her warmth and comfort. He wiped her tears away as gently as he could and eased the vampire onto her feet.

"Please," Theryl said. "We'll find your mother. So don't cry, okay?"

Serana smiled. "Okay. We've nearly found my mother's lab. All that's left to do is solve whatever cryptic puzzle she put in place to keep my father out."

Theryl snorted. "Cryptic my pale, muscled ass." He spun on his heels and stared suspiciously at the giant moondial in the center of the courtyard. "I don't know what disappoints me more; that your mother would think this is an adequete magical countermeasure or the fact that the stupid thing actually worked. Help me gather the missing pieces, would you?"


End file.
